Gorta Mor (Part 2)

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With the amassed townsfolk on their doorstep the brothers, seriously fearing for their lives, grabbed as many provisions as they could fit and escaped out the back of their home into the night. The terrain at night was dark and dangerous, but given the other option it was their only choice. Shamus looked at his brother for comfort, but Darbish seemed unable to offer any. They both knew they had hard times ahead and decided to bed down for the night in a cove of trees.

Shamus collected a meager assortment of wood he could find nearby and Darbish worked at coaxing the kindling into a flame. Shamus sat by his brother and stared up into the night sky considering what they would be doing next.

“What do you suppose is next for us, Darbish?”

“We get the fire started so we can stay warm, and then we get some sleep.” Darbish replied in a matter of fact tone.

“No, well I know that, but I mean where are we going from here?”

“Oh…” Darbish was surprised, the question hadn’t really occurred to him. For him life was the fields, and taking care of his mother and little brother. What to do next? He pondered it for some time and then spoke, “Well Shamus, I suppose we will head out into the world and make a name for ourselves, there’s really not much back home for us anymore.”

“I don’t think we can call it home anymore, Darbish.”

“Good point Shamus,” Darbish said as he finally got some life into the small fire, “let’s get some sleep and pick a direction in the morning.”

Shamus put his head back in his hands and looked into the starry night. He envisioned many different paths their lives could take, perhaps they would find a new farm and continue their old life. They might get into trade and deal in fine trinkets and assortments from around the world. They could have even learned how to fight and exterminate dragons and demons to save people all over the land. He found it hard to sleep with all these thoughts going through his mind, but eventually drifted off and found his dreams to be much more vivid and amazing than just his thoughts alone.

The brothers awoke in their copse to the sun shining and bird song in the near distance. Things were looking up. They collected all their supplies and worked their way out to the main road.

“Well which way would you like to go Shamus?”

“Hrm… I don’t know, both ways look equally alluring.” Shamus replied.

“Alluring?” Darbish questioned with an eyebrow raised.

“It was a word Ma taught me.” Shamus countered with defense in his voice.

“Um, okay… still, which direction?”

Shamus closed his eyes and felt the breeze on his face; he adjusted his body until he was inline with the air stream. Taking a few steps forward with the wind at his back, he opened his eyes and pointed directly ahead, “This way.”

“Works for me.” Darbish shrugged and the departed down the path.

-V-

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Gorta Mor (Part 1)

Gather round young children as I tell you a tale of the two McDerbin brothers.  In the Early nineteenth century Ireland was a lush and beautiful place to be. The people were happy and they sang songs of joy to how great their lives were. Now many have heard about the Irish ability to imbibe copious amounts of spirits, but it was not known that at this time nery a drop of intoxicating drink would pass the lips of any Irishman. There is even a saying from the time, “By avoiding liquors, lagers, and ales, one can be sure to be happy, wealthy, and wells.” Let us look now on the hamlet of Claouth where the brothers live happily with their mother.

“Shamus! Darbish! Come inside. I need help.” Erin called to her boys. She was old and frail, life had been mostly kind to her, but the years were easily wearing on her by this point. The two young men entered the house, they were breathing heavy from tilling the farmland behind their cottage. Shamus, who always seems to have a perky glint in his eyes, looked around the room and saw his mother standing over a large pot on the stove. Darbish, the elder by a year, pushed Shamus aside as he entered.

“What is it yah need ma?” Darbish asked with a slight annoyance in his voice. “We still have half a field to till before sundown if we are going to get a good crop this year.”

“Watch how you talk to be boy!” Erin exclaimed as she painfully turned to him. “I need help moving the pot off the stove to cool your supper.”

“Absolutely ma,” Shamus said as he ran over to the stove and pulled the pot off. Erin smiled at her youngest son, and then shot a pensive look at the other.

“You could learn some manners from your younger brother, Darbish.”

“Oh aye, I could.” Darbish said in a playful way, “or I could get the fields done so that we will have more supper to eat in the future.”

“One day we will figure out how to have many riches and we won’t have to worry about fields anymore.” Shamus said dreamily.

“Corse, an I hope that day comes soon. I can get supper from here,” Erin chided, “Go and get the fields done with yah.”

For the McDerbins, life was going well. But, as they say, not all things can stay great forever. Then one day, the crops began to die off all across the land. The people had no idea what was happening, fear and doubt was working its way into the collective psyche. Erin, whom was already quite frail, came down with an affliction. The doctors that came to see her were bewildered by her condition, as it wasn’t just the normal passing of time on her and it wasn’t anything else they had seen before.

The townsfolk took this as a serious omen and convince themselves that the failing crops and Erin’s malady are connected. Rumors began spreading all around the village and with each retelling become more and more blown out of proportion. Within days most of the residents believe that Erin is a witch and she is causing the crops to fail as she is passing. In the middle of the night the villagers formed a mob and with pitchforks and torches assembled in front of their home to satiate their aggressions and fears.

-V-

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